


you find you'll get what you need

by mayaschuyler



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, and then it got a little angsty?, more like a poor attempt at dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5355587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayaschuyler/pseuds/mayaschuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Look at you. The great Thomas Jefferson getting off on being on his knees."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	you find you'll get what you need

"Oh,  _God."_

 

Alex's head hits the wall with a dull thud, hands scratching desperately for something to hold. He knows how particular Thomas is about his hair, wild fro styled just so. He resists the urge to tangle his fingers in the soft coils, to runs his fingers against Thomas' scalp, tries to not to think about the soft purr it would elicit from the man currently servicing him, tries not to imagine what those soft vibrations would feel like shooting down his cock.

 

Jefferson sits back, Alex whining at the small  _pop_ his lips make. He looks down, taking in the lazy smirk on Jefferson's face. His full lips are pink and slick with spit, face flushed. One hand is slowly stroking Alex, spreading the droplets of pre-come leaking out of the tip. His other hand roughly palms the visible bulge through his sweats, the wet spot on the front making Alex's mouth water. Never has he appreciated his nemesis' affinity for going commando more.

 

"Look at you," Thomas teases, voice deep and rough. Alex keens, hips rolling forward. The hand on him slows, Thomas lightly stroking with just two fingers. It's pure torture. "Already so far gone and we haven't even gotten to the best part." He stands up, pressing himself flush against Alex's body. Their hips rolls against each other's, the roughness of Jefferson's sweats against Alex's oversensitive cock almost bringing him over the edge. Their hands are everywhere, Alex slipping them past Thomas' waistband, squeezing the firmness of his ass, moving them up and around to feel the tautness of his stomach. Thomas leaves open mouthed kisses on his neck, throat, chest. Sucks dark pink marks on the most visible areas. Their hips move faster, Alex wrapping a leg around the other man's waist, groaning when the access allows for better friction. He can feel Thomas breathing heavy on his neck, his grunts on every downstroke. The dark patch grows and Alex knows Thomas is close.

 

His hands push on Thomas' chest, an easy signal. In a beat, Thomas is back on his knees, lips gently sucking on Alex's cock, the tip nearly purple. Alex bites the inside of his cheek, using all self control not to buck, focusing on the cool wood of the wall against his back and the thick scent of arousal in the air. It's nearly too much.

 

With a groan, Thomas moves deeper, hollowing his cheeks as he takes in as much as he can. For a moment, there's nothing else to be heard but Alexander's whines, Jefferson's heavy breathing, and the slick wet sounds of his mouth. Spit runs down his chin and he moans wantonly, lowering his head until he feels the tip hit the back of his throat. He slips a hand down his pants, the other on Alex's hip for balance. There's enough pre-come to soften his strokes as he squeezes tightly, willing himself not to come just yet. He refuses to give in first.

 

Lips stretched wide, he averts is gaze up, eyes admiring the long column of Alex's neck. His head is back, breaths shallow, his entire upper body flushed pink. His lips move quickly, softly whispering to himself. Thomas swells with pride when he gets a loud, broken moan out of the man after a quick swipe of the tongue. He knows the smaller man is close, and throwing caution to the wind, he grabs one of Alexander's dangling hands, pulling it towards his now messy hair.

 

Alex sighs contentedly, caressing the soft curls for a moment before tightening his grasp. He forces Thomas' head further down, feeling the cool wisps of air from the man's nose as he tries to breath evenly, dark curls around Alex's groin ticking his face. 

 

"Fuck, I can't—Thomas.  _Shit._ I can't wait any longer." Thomas moans encouragingly, shaking as he comes, catching his release in his hands. He feels Alex shift, knows he's looking down at him, watching him fall apart.

 

"Jesus," Alex grits out, orgasm rising in his belly. "Look at you. The great Thomas Jefferson getting off on being on his knees." He feels Thomas' groan, the vibrations shooting right into his core. "You love it, don't you?" His hands grab a fistful of hair. "Love sucking me off. Love being at my mercy." He thrusts up, pushing Jefferson's head down on the upstroke. "Love just having to take it." Thomas groans and Alex's cock twitches. He feels his balls tighten and with one final thrust, he's coming, little noises coming from Jefferson as he swallows as much as he can. Alex stiffens, watching some come and spit drip down the sides. "Jesus  _Christ..."_

 

Thomas swallows a bit more before coming up. His face is shiny, spit and come all over his mouth. He tries catching his breath, ignoring the stickiness on his hands, the way his pants are clinging to his thigh. He wishes he'd thought to pull them down earlier, but it's too late now. He'll have to wash them by hand later, not willing to run the risk of Martha finding them amongst the dirty laundry. He knows that she knows about his lack of loyalty. When he comes home drunk on orgasms and scotch, hair mussed, clothes smelling of sex. They don't talk about it, silently instilling a don't ask, don't tell clause on their relationship. Sometimes he wishes she'd step out too, come home with the smell of another man (or woman) on her skin to even the score.

 

When he comes back to himself, Alex is half dressed, pants pulled up, slowly buttoning his shirt. Thomas silently follows, joints popping as he moves to his feet. They don't speak as they fix themselves, Thomas wiping his face with dry tissues. It's not enough, but they gave up on subtlety ages ago.

With a curt nod, Alexander bids his goodbyes, quickly exiting the small office. Thomas waits in silence, listening as the footsteps fade and the front door open and closes. He catches his reflection in the mirror, hair flattened, pants damp, and a bit of dry come near his mouth.

 

When he leaves, he sets the mirror outside with the trash.

**Author's Note:**

> look at me, making attempts at smut instead of preparing for finals...


End file.
